I smile.
Syb wrinkles her nose as I replace the towel with my friend’s silken shirt. “You do realize you’re going to smell like male sweat all day?”
Phoebus burrows under the rumpled sheets. “I sweat rose water.”
Sybille snorts. “No one sweats rose water, Pheebs, not even purelings.”
I sniff the material, and although the fabric doesn’t exactly scream rose bushel, it doesn’t smell overly musky either.
Sybille walks over to the bed, and then she jumps. Right on top of Phoebus, who yelps. “I just wanted a hug. You know, in case we don’t make it back.”
I release the fabric I’m still sniffing. “Why wouldn’t you make it back?” The shirt’s hem brushes against the goosebumps that have risen on my thighs.
“Well, we did help the Crows return.”
Although my head thumps, I’m fully sober now. “You also helped Dante snag the throne.”
Phoebus encircles Sybille’s body in a hug and slides his chin into the crook of her neck. He must shift his jaw around like he used to do when he realized that spot was ticklish because she squeals and attempts to lever herself off him. “If Dante so much as touches a hair on your body, Fallon will sic her favorite Crow on him.”
“I don’t have a favorite Crow.”
He snorts. “Lies. So many lies.”
“If only she wasn’t immune to salt . . .” Syb’s eyes sparkle as she presses her cheek into Phoebus’s chest and gazes up at me.
Phoebus, too, is staring, but he seems elsewhere. “If Dante attacks any of you, Syb, I guarantee Lore will retaliate with a beheading or some limb culling. Can you imagine if he went for Regio’s cock?”
“Cocks aren’t limbs, Pheebs.” Syb’s voice dims as though it were emanating from inside the sewage conduit.
I blanch as I relive the memory of Marco’s severed head, and then I must swoon because, when my lashes sweep up, Syb and Phoebus are crouched over me, palms smoothing down my hair, my cheeks, my arms.
“Oh my Gods, Picolina. Are you all right?”
“Obviously not. She just fainted, Pheebs. Why did you have to mention severing essential body parts?”
“Because I’m only partly awake.” Phoebus helps me sit and holds me as Syb inspects whether my skull incurred any damage. “No one’s getting beheaded or delimbed.”
“Wemight if we break Lore’s curse-breaker.” Syb snags her lip as though she actually believes this is a possibility.
“I’m all right. I promise.”
“You just went down like a sack of parsnips,” Syb says as someone knocks. “Come in!”
“No,” I hiss because, what if it’s Lore? Or my father? Pheebs is wearing underwear, but I’m not. I probably should put some on. I tug on the hem of the shirt to cover as much of my legs as I can.
“Actually, don’t—”
The door swings open.
“—come in,” Syb finishes softly as my visitor springs the door open with his fingertips.
Six
“Your curse-breaker is fine.” Phoebus swallows, angling his large body behind mine.
Since my friend is not a prude, I imagine he fears retaliation from the male who stands in my doorjamb, wearing a scowl beneath his freshly-applied war paint.
“Super fine.” Sybille squeezes my shoulder, digging her nails into my skin. “Right, Fal? Right?”
